


A lot of soulmate nonsense and one stressed angel(?)

by secreterces5



Category: CountryHumans, Geography (Anthropomorphic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Czechia is trying to be a good brother, Czechoslovakia siblings are the best duo ever and I love them, Don't Judge Me, Drunk Soviet Union, Drunkenness, F/M, Historical Inaccuracy, I Ship It, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I don’t know why I ship them, Lots of confusion, Mild Language, Multi, Party Gone Wrong, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Stress, Stressed Out Slovakia is Stressed Out, USSR is Russia’s dad, and, except when she has to deal with actual problems apparently, he’s a dad of all the countries that came after his fall, probably, probably very OOC USSR tbh, “First thing they say when you meet them is written on your wrist” Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-08 02:53:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20287399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secreterces5/pseuds/secreterces5
Summary: I have recently been kidnapped by the Countryhumans fandom and it’ll not let me go for a while. Why I decided shipping a communist dictator and a small orderly country is beyond me, but here, have a Soulmate AU about them :)





	1. Don’t you think you’re overreacting?

**Author's Note:**

> I need to clarify a few things about how my headcanon Countryhumans look, alright? First and foremost: Slovakia has both eyes, but covers one with hair and a hairclip resembling the emblem on her flag. She also wears long fingerless gloves at all times, hiding an ugly scar she has from war (and in this instance also hiding her soulmate tattoo thingy). Czechia only has one eye and wears a blue triangular eyepatch. Both Czechia and Slovakia have white hair thanks to having a lion in their emblem as Czechoslovakia. Other countryhumans can get for example wings or horns this way, too.  
Soviet Union is, obviously, alive long after his imperium fell apart. As a symbol of his regime falling, he had lost his eye and wears an eyepatch nowadays, but it lacks the hammer and sickle, so only his flag’s star and edges of the typical communist imagery are left to be seen. While Czechia and Slovakia are both smol beans, the USSR is frickin’ tall as heck.  
Also this is written only for the sake of the idea I had about what their first sentences would be and how I could make them most confusing.

The house of the Czechoslovakian siblings was usually a very nice and peaceful home. Countryhumans who knew the siblings (or at least one of the two) and were ever invited always remember it fondly as a place of short comfortable silences and surprisingly lacking of sibling rivalries or meaningless arguments.

That being said, on that fateful day their home was only a step from descending into an absolute and total chaos.

Slovakia’s psyche was not in a much better state. She had been running around since six in the morning trying to organize some last minute arrangements for a small World Health Day party (7th of April) she decided to host and even though the food was ready, a music playlist was prepared, their fridge was filled to the brim with all sorts of both non- and alcoholic beverages and she had formal clothes picked out a week beforehand (for both herself and her brother), she still felt anxious and needed to constantly work on something to get her mind off of her stupid soulmark, which has been itching since the day before and irritated her to no end.

Czechia, who had been watching her frantically traveling from room to room, searching for more things to clean, moving this an inch to the left, that two inches to the right, decided he finally had enough of his sister trying to give herself a heart-attack.

“Slovakia,” he spoke up, “could you maybe chill? Your stupid tattoo itching doesn’t mean more than that you’ll be meeting with your soulmate soon. It doesn’t mean it’s gonna happen today and it doesn’t mean there will suddenly be more stuff for you to do.”

The eye not hidden by her white hair (a rare sight on countryhumans, unlike humans most of the country leaders lacked hair) and a hair clip with a double cross found him and a brow above the blue iris furrowed. “Shut up, Czechia, just because you already met your soulmate, you don’t have the right to make light of me meeting mine. If it is today, I think it’s not too unreasonable to panic a little.”

“Well it’s not unusual for you to be dramatic about it,” he noted and walked over to where she was bringing another bowl of chips out of the kitchen, taking it from her. “But Slovakia, if you keep yourself in a rush the whole day, you’ll have no energy left for the actual party, and that’d be a shame, since we both now you need to be the hostess. How about I do the running around and moving stuff back and forth and you get ready for welcoming everyone.”

They exchanged soft smiles. It was true, Czechia wasn’t much of a host. He wasn’t that good at presenting himself in any way, except maybe certain sports, those and drinking contests. Whenever he needed to “get political,” as he always said, he’d ask for help from either Slovakia or his soulmate, Croatia.

And so, Slovakia agreed to sit down and rest before the first guests would begin appearing. In the meantime, her thoughts drifted back to her soulmark. She always wore pink fingerless gloves that went all the way up to her elbows for two reasons, one was an ugly battle scar she had from her time as Czechoslovakia that ran along her right forearm, but the other reason was the sentence tattooed on her left wrist. Now, she pulled the edge of the glove away from her hand to look at the words again.

•~ _You are an angel._ ~•

Such romantic words. Whenever she showed it to any of her friends, they gushed about how sweet and poetic it was for those words to be the first she would hear from her soulmate. It got annoying with time, hence why she started wearing the gloves.

She’s already imagined a few scenarios with different countryhumans who she wished and hoped to maybe be her soulmates. She didn’t dare think about it too much, because she knew it could disappoint her, there were many who lost their soulmate before they even met, and some who met their soulmate and pushed them away for one reason or another. She hoped her soulmate would really be perfect, that it would be someone with discipline and a sense of responsibility, but also someone who’d take her seriously and understand her, like Ukraine or Austria, but it had to be someone who she hadn’t met in person yet, since the first words they’d speak were tattooed on her wrist and would make themselves known when said aloud by the right person.

She scratched at the ink. If she was really about to meet her soulmate, then she just hoped she wouldn’t have scratched her skin off by the time they meet.

~

A few hours later, Slovakia slammed the door of her room shut and slid down to the ground with her back against it, almost on the verge of tears.

The party was... a success. She wouldn’t dare raise a single complaint about the party, everyone was having fun and she was getting compliments left and right, and so many countryhumans came that it was almost unbelievable. Besides some politicians such as EU and her fellow country leaders, there were quite a few who weren’t technically rulers anymore but came along with their children and younger friends. She warmly welcomed Yugoslavia, an elderly woman who used to invite Czechoslovakia over for summer holidays, and gave a much more strained welcome to the Socialist Republic of Italy (or Fascist Italy, as most called him behind his back), who accompanied his son. But while Czechia was having fun and making friends, she felt too distracted by the soulmark to enjoy any of it properly. It came so far that she actually got a headache from all the noise and a horrible feeling in her gut that wouldn’t go away.

She felt horrible and the party around her became a loud, pulsating blur, and she was glad to see people starting to leave. With most of the guests gone, she asked her brother to handle the rest while she escaped to her room to take a break.

_Screw it,_ she decided,  _I have a guest list. I’ll check it tomorrow, find whomever I haven’t talked to and find my soulmate that way. No point in getting to know me while I’m about to collapse._

She sat with her back against the bedroom door for a while longer before deciding that maybe she should get a drink and then stay out of the loudest places in the house until the guests leave.

Rushing through the talking and laughing, but now much thinner crowd as fast as she could without attracting attention, she moved to the kitchen, only to discover the place to be as loud as others, although... not for exactly the same reasons.

A single person was making all the noise necessary for her head to throb, a person with a half-empty bottle of vodka in his hand, an ushanka on his head and blood red skin not unlike her own. She recognized him immediately.

“Rastsvetali iabloni i grushi, poplyli tumany nad rekoj! Vykhodila na bereg Katyusha, na vysokij bereg na krutoj!” USSR sang very, very out of tune but with vigor unlike any other while he sat on the kitchen counter. The tune sounded familiar to her ears, Czechoslovakia probably had to learn it while governed by the communist regime.

Slovakia sighed in mild annoyance. She didn’t know Belarus would actually drag her dad here, she hoped then that her friend was just joking, but apparently not. She also vaguely wondered if he had been in their kitchen the whole evening, as she hadn’t noticed him anywhere, and immediately after deduced that this couldn’t be his first bottle of vodka he had drank. Great. What she really, truly wanted to deal with right now was a lost soulmate, an intensifying headache  _and_ a communist ex-dictator. What fun.

Just then, the man’s arm he was using to keep himself in the counter slipped and he almost fell face-first to the ground, which made Slovakia instinctively rush over and check that he’s okay. She’d had to deal with Czechia’s drunken injuries before and she wasn’t in the mood to be nursing the Soviet Union of all people. “Sir, please stop,” she asked and only barely stopped herself from reaching to help him. He was not her brother after all. “You’ll hurt yourself,” she said anyway.

USSR looked at her as though only now noticing her presence in the room. He seemed very surprised and very confused, and she could say from the look in his one remaining eye that he was also very, very drunk. Without letting him utter a word, she said with a new determination: “Wait here, I’ll get someone from your family to take you home.”

Walking out of the kitchen, she almost bumped into Czechia and stopped him to ask: “Hey, are any of USSR’s kids anywhere nearby? He’s sitting in our kitchen and he’s drunk and we should get some of them to take him home.”

“Oh... that might be a problem.”

“Wh...why?”

“Well,” Czechia rubbed the back of his neck in hesitation, “see, Russia kept passively-aggressively flirting with America and I think they went into our guestroom, Canada took Ukraine and Belarus and as for the rest of them, they either didn’t come or left already. And besides, I think I saw Soviet’s car outside, he might have actually driven here.”

Her eyes widened: “I’m not letting that guy drive home drunk. That’s not a responsibility I want to bare.”

“Neither do I, but... it’s the USSR,” Czechia grimaced. “I’m not really keen on that guy staying here.”

Slovakia gave him a scolding glare: “Now now, Czechy. We’ve got to show our good nature here, what would other countries think if we just kicked the guy out?”

“I don’t know, would they think it worse than murdering millions??” the young man rolled his eyes. “But fine. I guess it won’t hurt to let him sleep on the couch, since the guestroom is... occupied. But that is your responsibility because I’m tired as hell and I still have to be the one saying goodbye because you keep freaking out, so the least you can do is tuck in the drunken communist.”

With that settled, Slovakia found herself - surprisingly - at more ease. She was proud of herself for not letting Soviet driving drunk, no matter how much the Russian family could drink and no matter the insane stuff they claimed to be able to do, she was not okay with putting anyone in danger.

Upon returning to the kitchen she found Soviet where she had left him, except now he was sitting on the floor and his bottle was empty. As he heard her footsteps approaching, he looked up at her with the same puzzlement in his eye.

“Uh, sir, are you okay with crashing at our couch for the night? I’m sorry, but I can’t with a clean conscience let you drive home,” she explained while not really sure it helped any.

But then Soviet gave her a thankful grin and muttered out: “You... are an angel.”

And Slovakia flinched as pain akin to burning shot through her left wrist.

“Wh... _what_,” she breathed out, eyes wide and her shoulders suddenly rigid.

“A‘mean it,” he kept going on, not taking notice of her panic, “f’someone who hasn’t talked to me ever since Czechoslovakia split up, you’re really fuckin’ nice, y’know that? This whole partay was great, ‘n m’kids had fun, ‘n even the fuckin’ UK, the bighead, waz’ere an’ seemed t’be enjoyin’ ‘imself. So I’d say y’re pretty good at this. B’sides,” he chuckled, “I admire the amount of booze you acculu– alcumu– aehhh...“

“Accumulated,” her brain reacted on autopilot while her body was still dealing with a wave of panic overwhelming her.

“That. Just... glad m’kids made me come ‘ere.” Seemingly content with the speech he gave, Soviet shakily stood up. “Now if the couch offer’s still on th’ table, I’d take it.”

Finally somewhat composing herself, Slovakia remembered the task at hand. She was the hostess after all. “Right,” she nodded and her eyes wandered to the now empty bottle he still hadn’t let go of. “But you’re leaving that here,” she snatched it from his hand.

“Pff I could throw it out m’self,” she heard him utter as she set it on the counter.

“You’d break it,” she retorted.

“I wouldn’t!”

“You can barely complete a sentence and this place is messy enough without shattered glass,” Slovakia said, now completely back to her usual self. She has always been able to push her personal trouble to the back of her mind when dealing with issues on bigger scales, and she considered this a pretty big scale. While directing Soviet into the living room, she brought in their spare blanket for him.

The house had emptied out in the short while she spent having her little revelation, and there was no sign of Czechia anywhere, meaning he must’ve headed off to get some sleep himself. Trying to busy herself further, she checked if the door was locked and if there were no larger messes to clean, but somehow, she ended up back in the living room, asking a person who had somehow caused her headache to worsen in three short minutes, if he needed anything else.

Giving her a smirk, he replied: “Well, ‘nother vodka’d do nicely.”

She scoffed: “Tough luck, you are definitely drunk enough as it is.”

Soviet Union shrugged. “Seems like y’need it fo’ y’self anyway,” he joked.

It almost offended her enough to make her leave, but she turned in the hallway, hesitant: “Uh, USSR?”

“What?”

A thousand questions ran through her mind. Was it mutual? Did he have another soulmate? Wasn’t Third Reich his soulmate? What would it mean to be his soulmate, what would he ask of her? But in the end, she forbid herself to ask anything right now. She was too overwhelmed to think clearly and he was too drunk to even stand still. Neither of them were in a state to discuss this now.

So instead, she hummed a silent “good night,” and headed for her bedroom.

The words on her wrist didn’t burn anymore. Her whole hand felt numb.


	2. I think you’re underreacting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So we know Slovakia’s all sorts of excited about her situation (sarcasm), but what about our friendly neighborhood drunk communist?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Including a small bonus of USA and Russia calling each other nicknames (kudos to whoever knows the fanfic I stole the nicknames from) and sneaking out after the party.  
It is probably worth mentioning that I have actually never in my whole life been drunk despite being legally an adult and so have no idea what a hangover really feels like.

A trio of voices woke him up that morning.

“C’mon, Meri, we’ve got to leave!”

“Wait wait wait Russ, did you get my jacket?”

“I thought you had it.”

“Dude, I ain’t leaving without my sweet NASA jacket! Be right back!”

“You both are way too loud to be subtle, how has he not woken up yet?”

“You know how it goes with a gifted horse, Czechia, just cover for us.”

“Sure, but next time America pulls some stupid shit and puts me in danger, you’re solving it, deal?”

Soviet Union cracked his only eye open. The room he was in was dark except for a sliver of light of an early sunrise. Too early, he decided. So early his sons affairs didn’t seem pressing enough for Soviet to even make an attempt at fully waking up. He knew if he allowed himself to drift fully into consciousness, a headache would embrace his mind with a deathly grip, and he wasn’t quite ready for that just yet. Instead he shut his eye again andtuned out the voices, falling asleep again in mere seconds.

The second time he woke up, it was a bit more pleasant. The living room was bathed in gentle morning light and the smell of a breakfast being prepared drifted throughout it. It reminded him of days when Belarus or Ukraine would be kind enough to make him a breakfast before heading out, knowing full well he’d be dead before he made his own food. For whatever reason, those days grew more rare with time, and he hated to admit that he missed it.

Soviet Union knew he was growing apart with his children. It was inevitable, really, with the way he had treated them and with all the differences between him and them it was no surprise. Still, every time Russia, most of all of them, gave him one of those nasty looks or uttered a little sarcastic reply to his questions, every single one of those instances he had to repeat to himself that it didn’t hurt him. It seemed that with his eye he lost most the hard-earned respect after he resigned. This also showed when he came to the World Health Day party, most countryhumans who noticed him gave him a disgusted sneer and moved right along. To search out the nearest bottle of alcohol seemed reasonable then.

As he recounted the previous evening’s events, Union finally woke up completely. As he tried to sit up, his head throbbed and he groaned in pain. Well, that was a horrible idea. He decided propping himself up on his elbows was enough work done for now and again, his focus turned to the party. He remembered being successful in his hunt for alcohol and he remembered the glee at just how much there actually was – almost too much. Like someone wanted to make sure there was enough, but then ordered three times the original amount.

His memories were pretty much a colorful blur after that, but he did remember one image vividly: a small figure leaning over him as he sat on the kitchen floor, a light above the figure making it but a shadowy silhouette with a full-body halo, and a shockingly soft voice carrying a few equally shocking words.

“Sir, please stop. You’ll hurt yourself.”

USSR cringed. He remembered nothing after that, but he desperately hoped he didn’t do anything stupid, because sometimes when he hallucinated, he became something akin to a natural disaster. And he knew he was having hallucinations, because the words he heard were imprinted on his wrist as well as on his mind all the time.

Drinking himself into daydreaming about his soulmate again definitely wasn’t the plan, not with so many country leaders around and not in a strange house. Well, not exactly strange, but Slovakia hated him and hadn’t spoken a word to him since her predecessor split apart and while Czechia sometimes went drinking with Russia, the more feisty and less orderly country definitely wasn’t a fan either.

_Why am I on their couch though? _ he realized out of a sudden and the question was enough force for him to sit up straight and try to get himself together. At least as much as he could. If they didn’t kick him out yesterday, it could mean he didn’t do anything too destructive or offensive – at least he hoped so.

“Morning, man,” someone spoke up next to him and Soviet Union jumped. Not because of the volume, he noted, just because he didn’t expect the voice. Whoever was talking must’ve expected him to have a hangover migraine, which, to be fair, he did have. Looking up, he saw Czechia approaching the couch, watching him with a perfect poker-face of someone trying very hard to be hospitable.

“If I broke anything, I apologize in advance,” Soviet answered his greeting. God, why did his throat have to hurt so much? Why did he have to feel so sick? Why couldn’t he endure all of this somewhere where no tiny countries who used to be part of his imperium could judge him?

“You didn’t,” the young man with a blue triangular eyepatch replied. Without the eyepatch, Soviet noticed, Czechia looked just like Poland, white and blue. Except Czechia had hair thanks to having a lion in it’s state emblem, whereas Poland, like most other countries including but not limited to USSR himself, lacked any hair to speak of.

Now that he thought of it, it felt kind of unfair that Slovakia inherited her hair despite not actually keeping her father’s lion in her emblem.

“I’d still appreciate if you left soon, though,” Czechia continued. “Nothing personal – well, for the most part – but we’ve got a home to clean up, and if I know Slovakia, she’ll want to start tidying this place up as soon as she wakes up,” he rolled his eye without any real spite in it. “So, to move things along, I made you a tasty breakfast of water, toast and aspirin,” he set a plate and a glass on the armrest of the couch. “And I’d recommend you putting your clothes on,” he added, “even Russia has more decency at this point than you, dude.”

While Czechia took his leave, Soviet looked himself over to realize that while his trousers were still where they should be, his coat was laying on the floor next to the couch, his ushanka was strewn over the backrest and somehow, his shirt had made it all the way across the room. He let out an annoyed sigh and, too comfortable in the warmth of his blanket to leave it behind just yet, decided to at least put his ushanka back on. The rest could wait after what Czechia described as a tasty breakfast.

Just when he was mindlessly biting down on the toast, another person wandered into the living room. For whatever reason, the footsteps stopped before they reached him, which, honestly, he found kind of offensive. “If I said something to insult you yesterday, I apologize, but I’d take you for the type who’d at least look me in the eye when I do so, Slovakia.”

She moved no further. “You uh, you didn’t,” she said and her voice was almost dripping with nervousness. That... was confusing to him. From what he’d heard of her, she seemed to be a very organized and stable person, and disregarding the size of the country, she didn’t seem afraid to speak up against any bigger fish who got in her way.

What did he know, though. “Great, if that’s the case, may I abuse your kindness for just a little longer and ask you to throw me my shirt? I don’t know why I felt the need to get it into the exact opposite corner of the room, but I don’t feel like getting up would do me any good just yet.”

He could’ve sworn he heard a silent annoyed “tsk” somewhere behind himself, but nevertheless, she walked into his field of vision and brought him the white shirt. She was also trying to look nonchalant, but while her brother truly didn’t care, something seemed to trouble her. It crossed his mind that maybe he did insult her after all and she was just too nice to say so. Or, could she be scared of him? No, that didn’t seem possible. Besides, he was currently slouching on her couch with a half-eaten toast in his hand and a headache that was probably so obvious he could as well write it on his forehead. Not really a frightening sight, if he could judge.

“I take it you’re the one behind me spending the night here and not crashing my car somewhere,” he spoke up while putting his shirt on.

“..oh,” she paused before answering, as if distracted, “yeah. Don’t you... remember? How I offered you to stay?”

He snorted and looked up from the buttons on his shirt to focus on her and also to stop his head from spinning, and he could swear he caught her staring at him for a split second. “I remember drinking myself under the table. That much and nothing else.”

“Oh...” she said quietly.

His brows furrowed, this seemed less and less like the ambitious politician she was rumored to be. “Why? What did I do?”  _Please let it not be too idiotic, please, I beg of you._

Slovakia bit her lip, considering how to explain, if it was even a good idea to explain anything at all. Maybe she should just be grateful and let it be. Just... let him walk out and away and never tell him that she was his soulmate. Then, she wouldn’t have to endure any of the judgement that would inevitably follow otherwise, because what did it say about her if her soulmate was  _the_ USSR?

Then again, there must be a reason for him to be her soulmate, right? He’s supposed to be perfect for her, right?? The thought didn’t make sense, but perhaps she just couldn’t see it.

“Your silence really isn’t all that comforting,” Soviet Union interrupted her train of thought.

Giving up, Slovakia sat down next to him and ran a hand through her hair, readjusting the red and blue hairclip with a white double cross that characterized her. “It’s just not what you think. Or what I expected, for that matter.”

This just left him outright puzzled. Why was she being so damn cryptic? Then, it hit him – could she have been scared to tell him? Did she worry he would be the one offended? The concept was so foreign to him at this point that it honestly hadn’t occurred to him until now, when the aspirin started to chase his hangover away and his thoughts got less foggy.

Slovakia took a deep breath and then looked him dead in the eye and spoke: “USSR, you are my soulmate.”

The claim caught him by surprise and rendered him motionless for a moment as he processed the information. Could that mean that what he thought to be a figment of his imagination was actually... Slovakia? “No,” he shook his head. “You have to be mistaken.”

Her expression didn’t change one bit, but disappointment flashed in her eyes. _Could_ it be disappointment? Over someone like him not being her soulmate? Was that even possible?

Pulling off her left glove, she showed him the tattooed words: “You told me yesterday when I offered you a place to stay.”

He read over the sentence. “‘You are an angel,’” he mumbled quietly. How romantic. And he said it in a drunken haze, not even remembering saying so. “I... am honestly sorry, but my soulmark isn’t an offer of a place to stay,” Soviet spoke gently and caught her hand in an attempt to comfort her. She flinched – so much for her having any positive feelings toward him, he thought – but didn’t seem to give up just yet.

“That’s not the first thing I said to you though,” she argued. “I asked you to stop, because you were swinging a bottle around and I was kind of worried you’d hurt yourself which was the last thing I wanted to deal with yesterday.”

His grasp on her hand tightened slightly, but it was enough for her to take notice and raise an eyebrow: “Don’t tell me. Does your tattoo actually say ‘sir, please stop’?”

“It... but...” He seemed to have had air knocked out of his lungs for a while, but then he admitted: “I thought I’d killed my soulmate years ago among all the others... I thought I never gave them a chance to speak the words and missed my chance. Or that they said so and I didn’t hear.” He rolled up his sleeve to reveal his wrist.

•~ _Sir, please stop._ ~•

Slovakia stared first at his soulmark, then up at him, then back at his soulmark. “You’re my soulmate,” she uttered then, perplexed.

“It does look that way,” he nodded in equal disbelief.

“You are truly my soulmate,” Slovakia repeated. “As in, it’s mutual. I’m your soulmate too.”

“Yes, I do understand that part. What still baffles me is – actually, all of it. It baffles me that we are somehow soulmates.”

“Why?”

“Oh, what about the fact that I was this close to murdering your predecessor in cold blood and you yourself hadn’t even spoken to me once in all the time you’ve been around? I feel like our relationship might be a little strained. And besides,” he looked away, “I don’t seem to have the best influence on people.”

“Well,” Slovakia squared her shoulders and her lips curled up into a determined smile, “maybe it’s time someone had an influence on you. And about the strained relationship – how about we start with you helping us clean the place up? You did raid our beverage supply after all, and got to sleep here.”

“She meets her soulmate and first thing she asks of him is to cleanup, that makes fixing our relationship very tempting indeed,” he rolled his eyes, but a small smirk played on his features now.

“Less complaining, more action!” She leaned closer to button up his shirt for one because it was extremely distracting and also because her soulmate simply can not walk around looking like a vagabond. The small blush on Soviet’s face somehow evaded her attention. When finished with her work, she stood up and, one hand resting on her hip, she offered the other to him: “Now, are you just going to sit here, or do you want to figure out what exactly made Fate want to set us up, soulmate?” Somehow, her calling him that felt... right. And for the first time in who knows how many years, USSR felt like life was giving him a chance and a new motivation.

His smile reflected that of her own when he reached for her hand, standing up to tower over her, but turned deliciously wicked as he flashed a toothy grin: “Sounds good to me, soulmate.”

Right then, Czechia walked into the room, and upon seeing the scene before him, managed to stutter out just a few words in his complete and utter horror: “You guys. _What the fuck._”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the end, the one who ends up with the shortest end of the rope is poor Czechia.  
That’s it, everyone, the rest of their adventure is up to your imaginations! Except, of course I have a bajillion other fanfic ideas, so if you liked this one, please tell me so in the comments and thank you if you decide to leave kudos ❤️🇸🇰


End file.
